


Null and Void

by lissomelle



Category: To All the Boys I've Loved Before Series - Jenny Han, To All the Boys I’ve Loved Before (2018)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/M, Lara Jean POV, Peter POV, the kids are so bad at fake dating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-29
Updated: 2018-08-29
Packaged: 2019-07-03 21:33:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15827364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lissomelle/pseuds/lissomelle
Summary: Peter keeps writing notes, hoping she’ll read one.





	Null and Void

**Null and Void**

 

 

 

The first note is easy.

Just the bottom of a clean sheet ripped out of his notebook and folded twice. Peter doesn’t even think before adding the heart and writing her name outside.

 

> _We’re gonna crush this, Covey. Trust._

 

The punchline to a joke only they know.

Of course, then apparently she doesn’t read the notes. Like, at all.

After they put it in the contract and everything.

A week in, he starts writing random shit to see if she notices, and if she does? She doesn’t mention it.

He ramps it up —

 

> _Not gonna lie, I’ve thought a lot about you in those combat boots._

 

— and? Nothing. Which is when he knows for sure. If she asked, he could’ve shrugged it off and teased her about checking to see if she’s reading. Steered into their usual banter. But she doesn’t even ask.

And okay, their whole — pretend thing, ruse, whatever you want to call it — is new, but he’s known Lara Jean for a minute. She’s ignoring him. Which may be the worst part.

Then again, he’ll think he can read her, the way she signals how much she wants to be left alone by the way she keeps quiet in class and how she’ll duck her head a little whenever someone starts being nasty to her — but as soon as they’re going hard trying to intimidate her, she turns steely, shoulders level and spine straight. And suddenly she’s staring them down. Daring them to blink first. She’ll say later she was afraid, yet she looks anything but.

Maybe he can’t actually read her at all.

And then for reasons he doesn’t know, right when bullshitting notes should be easiest, he finds he doesn’t want to. Just in case.

_Of what, asshole?_

No clue. He writes them anyway.

It’s in the contract.

 

*

 

So he adjusts. New information means new guidelines: always make hangout plans in person or by text. Write notes saying —

Well, it depends. 

 

> _The guys like you, Largie. 1 for LJ, 0 for Gen._

> _Btw I didn’t forget I owe Kitty a yogurt smoothie. (They’re gonna keep getting swiped if she keeps sticking them in my cup holder, though.)_

> _Hot boots._

 

 

.:.

 

 

Lara Jean can't make heads or tails of lacrosse, but she honors their agreement and goes to every game. She can tell when the team scores (usually), but she takes her cues from the crowd otherwise.

The day before Game Day is always her favorite, though, the team following the football and basketball teams’ example and dressing to the nines. When she and Kitty get into Peter’s Jeep, Kitty always whistles and he always flashes a grin before looking to Lara Jean. It makes her fidget, the idea that he cares about her opinion of him, warming her a little before she presses it firmly down. _No way Peter Kavinsky cares what you think, Lara Jean._

The first time she sees him, she’s surprised to find his suit actually fits him instead of hanging loose like he’s a kid in his dad’s clothes. Every line of it follows every line of his, tracing his height and broadness, his cuffs and pant hems hitting exactly where they should. It's simple, just the school colors, navy blue against a white button-down and gold silk tie. His shoulders fill out the jacket perfectly, his long neck rising from his ironed collar in a way that makes her palms a little sweaty. The entire team looks sharp, but Lara Jean thinks he looks sharpest.

Not that she's looking that hard. Or that much.

“I clean up okay, Covey?”

She looks away but is proud of the way her voice holds steady. “There's hope for you yet, Peter.”

“Just keeping up with you.” He gives her ponytail a gentle tug and then starts the car. “That's yours, by the way.”

Lara Jean spots the scrap of notebook paper on the dash as the jeep hums beneath them and peels out of the driveway. She thinks it's probably a reminder about another party and as if reading her mind he adds, “I’ll be at yours by seven tonight; we got that thing at Steven’s.”

“Okay,” she says loftily, “but we're doing a Nora Ephron double feature this weekend: _You’ve Got Mail_ and _When Harry Met Sally_.”

“Ha!” He glances over at her. “I’ve already seen _When Harry Met Sally._ It's my mom's favorite.”

“Then _Casablanca._ ”

“Aw, come on, we literally just did _Pretty in Pink._ ”

“Your movie education continues, young padawan.”

“I think you mean, ‘ _Continue, your education does_ ,’” he says, in a dead-on Yoda impression. Kitty and Lara Jean burst out laughing.

“At least we’ve both seen _Star Wars_.”

“Duh. Non-negotiable.”

“Mm. Too paint-by-numbers for me,” Kitty says, digging in her bookbag.

“Such a grown-up," Peter says. "Does that mean I should take someone else to see _Wreck-it Ralph 2_ next month?” He looks meaningfully in the rearview mirror.

“No way!” Kitty yelps.

Lara Jean snorts, even as she feels herself warm again at the thought of Peter making Thanksgiving plans with Kitty. 

 

 

 

 

> _Molly Ringwald’s got nothing on you._

 

 

.:.

 

 

The thing is, Peter does remember a lot. It’s like he learned and filed all of it away without realizing it, his brain taking mental notes on Lara Jean Covey without his permission.

Not like a Big Brother thing, just — he notices her. The mashup of contradictory things that are all true about her at the same time. Her room probably qualifies for disaster relief, but while other kids wrote “Peter K.” when they did class Valentines, she wrote out “Peter Kavinsky” and spelled it perfectly, her handwriting small and tidy even in fifth grade. Somehow she can identify bullshit without making it a call-out, which is lethal in a different way. Her school projects always kill too, taking any subject and making it her own. Like filtering it through Lara Jean Vision and instantly making it more interesting.

And the Instagram street fashion _clothes_ , man. He’s seen Gen scroll obsessively through enough feeds to know she snipes at Lara Jean’s style because she’s jealous. Not just because Lara Jean looks good, but because she’s always wearing the clothes and not the other way around. And she doesn’t date, ever, so it’s all for herself. She wears what she likes because she likes it.

Damn, it’s a lot.

 

*

 

“What’s that you’re working on so hard over there?” Mom asks.

He has scraps of paper scattered all over, which he realizes looks like he’s building some kind of weird hoarder’s nest. “Nothing. Uhh, art project. For school.”

“A project named ‘Lara Jean’?”

Shit.

“Don’t forget I gave birth to you, Peter. You’re not as slick as you think.”

From the opposite end of the couch, Owen cracks up and Peter chucks the cap of his pen at him. “Shut up!”

“When you’re ready, maybe you can even bring her over for dinner sometime,” Mom says, totally calm.

His head snaps up. It took three _years_ for his mom to ask Gen over. And even then, it was rare.

“Obviously,” she continues, “I want to meet the girl who’s making you grin like a cheshire cat. And, frankly, who makes you work like this.”

Come on. He’s not working that hard.

Is he?

 

 

.:.

 

 

Lara Jean’s phone rings, the screen lighting up. _Peter Kavinsky._ Weird. He really doesn’t call that often, probably because everything he’d say, he tells her in person at some point during the day.

“Peter? Everything all right?”

“Yeah, just — calling.”

“O….kay?”

“I had a question. About World History.”

She can’t help smiling. “Like, for school or in general?”

“What was the assigned reading? I didn't write it down.”

“Oh. You could've texted me,” she says, walking over to flip open her notebook.

“Not everything works in text.” There's a pause at the other end that makes her stop.

“Was there something else?”

Silence for another long moment. “Did you ever hear back from the other guys? The ones you wrote to.”

It’s casual enough, but there's a weird undertone to the question that Lara Jean can't place. “One letter came right back, Lucas and Josh gave me theirs, and nothing from the last guy. Hey,” she says suddenly, “you never gave me back yours.”

“What, you mean I don’t get to keep it? That cuts deep, Covey.”

She snorts even as she's covering her face at the thought of him holding onto the letter.

“Yeah, well. It was never supposed to reach you in the first place.”

“Listen,” he says, “my phone's about to die and the guys are watching me. They think I called to say good night.”

“Oh. So you didn't need the reading—”

“Last call of the night shouldn't be to my ex, a little birdie told me.” There are several conflicting things at play here, she knows, but, truth told? Lara Jean doesn’t feel like digging into them.

So she teases, “A little birdie? I think she meant calls in general, not just the last one.”

“Well, there haven’t been any. Not lately.”

“Then it sounds like the birdie’s job here is done.”

She hears him pull in a deep, long breath. “‘Night, Lara Jean.”

The softness of his voice makes her say quietly back, “Good night, Peter.”

 

 

 

 

> _I like your voice. Especially at the end of the day._

 

 

.:.

 

 

It’s Wednesday night and they're at Strike Zone, the slightly grody bowling alley near school, with Chris and some of Peter’s lacrosse guys. Lara Jean’s star instantly rises when she _smokes_ everyone, including Peter. It surprises everyone except Chris, who just smirks and salutes her best friend. Greg re-names her Largie Strike on the spot, and Lara Jean blushes in that cute way, her cheeks and ears pink.

This is when Peter would normally kiss her but instead he reaches out and cups his hand to the back of her neck, a thumb rubbing her earlobe. She wrinkles her nose, but he knows it’s more leftover embarrassment from the nickname than anything when she smiles and leans into his touch.

They’re both waiting for their turns in the next game and Lara Jean's got her legs stretched out on the couch, her calves on Peter’s lap. He’s got one of her ankles in his hand and it feels like it's almost tiny enough for his fingers to close around twice. His thumb draws the occasional lazy circle around the small bone beside it. And she's perfectly calm about it. Nothing like the way she used to jump when he first started touching her.

So he's proud of how they're both making this seem natural. It even feels natural. Like they’ve been doing this forever. Like they could keep doing this forever.

...Oh.

 

 

.:.

 

 

“Here,” Peter says, holding up the now-familiar square of paper. The bottom edge jagged like it was torn from his notebook in a hurry. Her name in his boyish scrawl.

The requisite prop in the scene they’re setting today, like every other day.

“Cool.” Lara Jean nods and plucks it from his fingers; Gen’s in Chemistry with her next period.

She doesn’t notice the way he watches her slide it into the top of her textbook, a corner sticking out from the pages like a little flag declaring claimed ground. Neither does she notice him watching her straighten her knee socks or him offering a hand to steady her when she lifts a foot to confirm the stickiness under her sole is from the floor tiles and not a stray wad of gum. Her nail polish is chipping, her teeth need flossing, and she doesn’t notice how much he doesn’t see any of these things while he’s looking at her.

If she did, she might also notice they’re at their lockers in the Juniors’ wing just before the end of lunch, not a soul around to see them together.

As it is, she shifts her bag on her shoulder and starts walking to Chem.

Peter keeps pace with her, and when they reach the classroom he says, “See ya,” in her ear the way he usually does. Then he lopes through the incoming crowd to reach his class on the other side of school before the tardy bell rings. 

  

 

 

 

> _You looked so pretty today._

 

 

.:.

 

 

After she breaks up with him, it’s a hard habit to kick.

There are a few he almost drops in her locker but he always stops himself.

 

> _Kitty left her lucky eraser in my car. I know she doesn’t need it, but she should have it._
> 
> _I watched_ Pretty Woman _without you. It wasn’t the same._
> 
> _Wish you never told me that thing about being mad at someone and still missing them._
> 
> _I miss being the first person to see what you’re wearing to school._
> 
> _I miss you._

 

 

.:.

 

 

The hat box feels so light in Lara Jean’s lap, like nothing.

He didn’t date his notes, but she can still piece together the timeline from context.

It’s stupid; she would have known if she’d been reading all along.

The tone shifted so early on.

And she can tell the one she’s holding now came after their fight about the ski trip but her heart pounds; it could have been written that morning.

 

> _I know you’re scared, Lara Jean. But I am too._

 

 

.:.

 

 

God, he’s lucky. Every time he thinks a kiss with Lara Jean is the best of his life, the next one happens. And then the next one. And the next.

So after she meets him on the lacrosse field, he’s a little occupied.

Later, though, they’re sitting side by side in a booth at the diner when he asks. He has to.

“Why _didn’t_ you read my notes?”

“I mean, I did. Well — only a few of them when you gave them to me. But I thought they were fake! I mostly just threw them away.”

Immediately he groans, clapping a hand to his chest and slumping like he’s been stabbed. It feels kinda like he has been.

“But Kitty saved them; I’ve read all of them now!” she adds in a hurry, taking his free hand in both of hers.

“Lara Jean.”

“Yeah?”

He leans over to touch his forehead to hers, pressing a small, closed-mouth kiss to her mouth to prepare her before he slides her bottom lip between both of his, sucking before he nips it gently with his teeth, his hand skimming down her arm before sneaking around her waist to pull her closer. He rubs her nose with his before pulling back a little and looking her straight in the eye.

“The notes were always for you. Not for you to trick Gen. Just you.”

She smiles and there it is again, that feeling like he’s falling apart and getting put back together all at once.

He grins when she says, “Good. I already ripped up the contract.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Many thanks to all the friends who’ve yelled about this movie with me, but especially Anjali_Organna and pathstotread for cheerleading, reading, and invaluable note-giving — I give them full credit for the last of Peter’s notes! All mistakes are mine.


End file.
